Page 30 of The Games We Play

“I’m not embarrassed,” I say through gritted teeth, but I swallow my dignity because this job is the one thing I can call my own. I got it myself. The money I make, I earn. Nobody handed this to me, and that matters. Bending down, I grasp the card between my finger and thumb, fully aware of their stretched necks so they can see down my tank top and the cusp of my ass sticking out of my shorts.

I stand and hold the card out to Jackson. This time, he takes it with a proud smile. Leaving their table to get their drinks, I don’t miss the low whistle as I walk away.

I find Janice leaning against the wall in the kitchen, her manicured nails tapping away on her cell phone. “I can’t believe this.”

“You’re blocking the soda,” I state, and she looks at me like I just slapped her.

“I’m having a crisis. Can’t you see that? God, am I just invisible to everyone?”

“What? Did your favorite clothing store go out of business?” She steps aside, and I grab my table’s drink order.

“Not funny! And no. Joe just said we needed to talk and then ghosted me. Do you know what this means?” Her voice raises in pitch. I balance the drinks on my tray and carefully maneuver around her.

“That he needs to talk.” I shrug.

“Clearly, he is breaking up with me! And right before Thanksgiving! My parents think he is coming. I can’t just show up like a single loser!” She shoves her phone inside the elastics of her shorts since there isn’t enough fabric for pockets. “I can’t stay here. I have to go.”

“Wait! You have tables!” I shout as she disappears out the back door. “Fuck!”

I collect myself, grab Jackson’s drink from the bar, and take the tray of fountain drinks to their table. The eyes of other customers watch me as I stride across the restaurant.

“Miss?” A customer from Janice’s section stops me. “Could you find our waitress? We need more drinks?”

“Yes, of course,” I say and pick up my pace to Jackson’s heated gaze.

“Bout time,” he complains. I hand out the drinks and grip the tray under my arm.

“Sorry, are you ready to order?”

I get halfway through their order when Jackson takes a drink of his beverage and makes a disgusted face. “This tastes like garbage. The bar’s Jacks and Cokes are so much better.”

“Maybe you should try their dinner specials,” I say and bite the inside of my cheek when it registers.Shit,if they ask for my manager,I’m totally fucked.

To my surprise, Jackson laughs, and my cheeks heat. “Maybe you should come with me tonight. We could dance, drink, find somewhere quiet…”

If only he knew just how dismembered he’d be if X knew of what he was merely thinking.

“Pass,” I deadpan and leave to get the rest of their food order. I’m stopped by two more of Janice’s tables on the way to the kitchen. The doors swing closed, and Cookie springs for her attack.

“What the hell is going on out there?” she demands.

“Janice walked out. Like just now. Her tables are antsy and need assistance. Several have asked for drink refills, but I have mine plus the extra booth of five. I can’t do it all.”

Cookie’s features turn a shade darker, and she grabs for a notepad and pen. “I don’t get paid enough for this,” she grumbles.

“More than me,” I mumble after she walks away.

I make my rounds at my tables, passing out their checks and making sure everyone is satisfied. I get Jackson and his friends’ food and smile when everything is as it should be, minus how he watches me like I’m his desert. Jackson orders his third Jack and Coke, and the bartender, Whitney, gives me a side-eye. We usually cut people off after three to keep this place from being more of a bar hangout than a fine-dining restaurant.

I take Jackson back his drink and reach over the table to grab the dirty dishes. A wave of shock resonates up my body from the sting on my ass. I step away from the table, and Jackson is smiling at me.

Fucking smiling.

My blood boils for the audacity that he thinks he can touch me. I draw my arm back and crack my clenched fist across his jaw.

There’s a split second of shock on Tori’s features as Jackson’s head recoils back, and I reach for the steak knife resting atop the dirty dishes.

I don’t think.

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